Chaos
by Aanaleigh
Summary: The life of a girl who's affected by the spiritual side of life. Written for Starvation's monthly challenge.


**This was written for Starvation's monthly challenge. The prompt was 'Five'.**

_travel_

With bright red cheeks, and a huge smile on her face, a black haired, green eyed five year old girl walked along the snow covered trail, her mittened hands each grasping onto one of her parents. She delighted in the sound of her boots crunching the snow under her feet, and she tried to make every footprint look perfect.  
"Remember, Lizzie, we're on an adventure, and need to make a clear path so we can find our way back home," the tall, brown haired man had told his daughter before they left their tiny place they called home.  
The small girl believed every word that her father said. She enjoyed going to see her mother's friend's children. They were all younger than Lizzie, and she liked bossing them around, Carrie was especially fun to boss.  
Carrie was only three years old, with curly black hair, and tan skin. She loved playing in the mud, and would throw the mud at others, and Lizzie would tell the toddler who to throw it at.  
At the end of the usual two hours, the family of three, the tall brunette father, the black haired, heavily pregnant mother, and between them, the small five year old, who, despite the mud covering her, had a huge grin displayed on her face for the world to see. Or at least, district four.

_instability_

The wrecked hull of the fishing boat that had swept up onto the beach should have been enough for her to understand. But she was only ten. At that age, how were you supposed to react to being told that your father, and little brother died, and in a fishing accident of all things.

Her mother, upon hearing the news, just smiled at the man, wished him a good day and went back to what she was doing. The look on her face showed that she didn't believe the man. Her husband was returning that night, with their son, as they did every night.

When she tried to convince her mother otherwise, Lizzie was pushed away, and harshly told that there would be no more talk of death in her presence.

A day later, another man came to the door, Lizzie answered it this time. This time, the man was here to tell the Greys that no bodies had been recovered. Her father and brother were gone. Presumed dead by all, with no bodies to prove it.

Lizzie slipped back inside her now quiet house; she walked as quietly as she could though the living room, trying not to alert her mother to her presence. Unfortunately, her foot stepped on the only squeaky floorboard in the house.

That one tiny noise, sent her mother scurrying into the room, ready to scold her daughter for something or other. What she saw instead stopped her in her tracks. Even unstable mothers can't help that protective feeling they get when they see their child crying.

After reassuring her mother several times, and managing to escape yet another tight, rib crushing hug, Lizzie ran out of her home, she ran to the only place she felt calm. A small beach that was hard to get to, by land, and water, it served as her place to just sit and think.

_unpredictable_

It came as no surprise when upon waking up, her mother didn't realize what day it was. Of course she wouldn't, how could she when she could hardly remember her own name?

Lizzie crept silently into the kitchen, and ate a slice of bread. That was all she could force down.

Today was Reaping day.

Her first one. Her name was only in once, but Lizzie had made up her mind. She was going to be in this years Hunger games, even if that meant arguing with someone else for the title of tribute.

Dressed in a plain light blue sundress, and her only pair of shoes, Lizzie took her mother, and walked down to the square.

People were already filling up the seats as Lizzie forced her mother into one off to the side, and rushed off to find a good seat in with the Twelves.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the Mayor walked up, and began his speech, which Lizzie promptly ignored, instead focusing on the sounds around her, particularly the sounds of the two girls behind her, whispering. Though she only caught snip-its of their conversation, it didn't take long to realize they were discussing her. And her mother.

If people realized her mother's state of mind, they would remove Lizzie from her care, and that was one thing the eleven year old did not want. She liked the freedom she had now.

While she sat pondering how she could hide her mother, the Mayor finished his speech, and introducing Ardin Vice, the man who would be drawing the _un_lucky tributes.

First were the girls.

Fanny Arnolds was the girl drawn. Lizzie didn't pretend to know who she was, but before the other girl could even stand up, Lizzie had already done so, announcing that she volunteered as tribute.

She walked up on stage, turning to see the surprised looks on the faces of the district four's citizens.

Out of another glass bowl, a boy's name was quickly drawn –Dansin Rush- and pulled up on stage.

When they were escorted to the Justice Building by the peacekeepers, Dansin only said one sentence to Lizzie. He thanked her for volunteering, and saving his girlfriend from having to face death.

No one came to say good-bye, but Dansin was led away. As she sat in silence, the impact of what she'd done finally hit Lizzie. She was going to die. She would get to see her dad, and brother again. A small smile crossed her lips at the thought.

_motion_

The last little while had taken ages to get through, and Lizzie wished that it would just hurry up. Let her get to the arena, that way she'd be just that much closer to seeing her dad and brother again.

She was just going though the motions for everyone around her. In training, she learned useful little things that she didn't need, and she ended up with a score of seven. When she was put into the small tube that led up to the arena, her heart felt just a bit lighter.

She was to remain on the platform for sixty seconds after she was there, or else something bad would happen. That something would end in death.

The outfit she was in was simple, it looked like she was wearing a normal outfit to go hiking in, but the fabric was heavy. Lizzie hated it. As someone who spent most of her time in water, she couldn't stand heavy clothes.

Moving up, Lizzie began getting more excited, the slow moving platform was driving her insane. And it was on there that she decided her new plan.

_adventure_

Fifty-five, fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty.

Her mind was made up. How come she couldn't do it?

Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six, forty-five.

Was it the fear of not knowing what would happen?

Forty-four, forty-three, forty-two, forty-one, forty.

It was just another stop in her adventure. Literally, just a step. She could do it. It wasn't that hard.

Lizzie stared at the hard ground before her. Just inches away.

Thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four.

She raised her right foot. Then, in a burst of motion, she jumped off the plate. Thirty seconds early.

The platform was a mine. As soon as her weight left the surface, it exploded. Blood, and pieces of tissue covered the small area where a small girl with dull curly black hair, and bright green eyes had once stood.

A cannon went off, and her picture appeared above everyone's heads. The female tribute from district four was no more.

**A/N: Well, will you look at that. You've made it through my rather crappy oneshot. This was my first time writing something for the Hunger Games, since all other attempt tend to backfire on me.**

**Also, incase you'd like to know about the headings, I searched up what the number five meant spritiually. Here's basically what the website, and books I have had to say: 'the number five deals with travel, adventure, motion. With the highs that come with those, there is also unstablity, and unpredictablity. It draws our attention to the wonders of life, and to appreciate the chaos around us.'**

**Anywho, review, please, let me know what you think of my horrible attempt in this fandom. :)**


End file.
